


Sometimes change isn't so bad

by qwanderer



Series: The Completely Non-Sexual Romantic Life of Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitzfeels, M/M, Multi, Not Anymore, Not Canon Compliant, Spoilers for Episode: Beginning of the End, Spoilers for Episode: Nothing Personal, Spoilers for Episode: Only Light in the Dark, Spoilers for Episode: Ragtag, Spoilers for later episodes once they air, Unconventional Relationship, You can totally skip this and still have Hear Me make sense, but still pretty close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz doesn't like change. But it could bring something wonderful into their lives - and they could certainly use that, right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Basically the problem was that Fitz was continually forced to notice that Triplett was the pinnacle of human perfection. 

Because to start with, he was gorgeous, obviously. So many nice muscles. And he kissed like a powerful precision instrument. There was pretty much no escape from being attracted to him if he was at all close to your type. 

Which, he was definitely Jemma's type. Polite, kind, competent, smart. He was an excellent field agent with more-than-sufficient combat skills and the ability to think on his feet, but he was a medical specialist first for a reason. 

He was everything Jem needed. Fitz was pretty well fucked. 

* * *

He wasn't sure how much the team knew, but they definitely knew something was up. 

Ward apparently thought that there were some things he really needed to talk to Jemma about. Which, maybe, wasn't all that wrong. But it was just kind of completely out of the blue to hear him insisting on it. Because Fitz barely knew what was going on between the two of them; how would Ward know? 

Coulson, thankfully, was too caught up in his own romantic problems to notice. And it kind of made him feel better that he wasn't the only one facing the prospect of watching their beautiful darling girl walk away and move on. Justifying fading into the background. It wasn't always a coward's move. The man who'd died on Loki's staff, who'd learned to defy orders for his team, would never do anything cowardly. 

But Fitz supposed that maybe his situation wasn't exactly the same. 

* * *

On their way back, Simmons cornered him. 

"We need to talk. Agent Triplett thinks he's done something to upset you." 

He had a hard time explaining, maybe because it didn't actually make sense, all the resentment he felt. "You know how I am. I don't like change." 

She looked at him with worry, trying to figure out how serious this was. "Come on," she said, putting a hand against his cheek. "Is it always so terrible? Fitz, I like him, I do, but... not if this is making you unhappy." 

"Jem, I don't wanna take this away from you. Really I don't. You need someone who can take care of you properly." He'd started this for her, and there was no way he was going to withdraw his permission now. 

"Fitz, that's not...." She shook her head. But before they could continue, the plane was landing, and they needed to go and continue their work. 

It was a long time before they had another chance to talk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Spoilers for Nothing Personal. Smut. Fitzfeels.

He went after Jemma when she excused herself to process the bad news. Trip would have done okay, but this was Fitz's job. He knew her. He was the boyfriend. 

They always faced things like this side-by-side. 

He didn't know how many times they'd made pancakes together. It was sort of a high-stress-week tradition with them, usually during exams. Always settled them right down, working side by side on something that was inarguably useful, but not what they were panicking about. So when Jem suggested it, he got right on board. Happy and calm again. 

Right up until he found The Clue, and heard Jemma's scream. 

It couldn't be. It. Could Not. Be. 

Even when he came face to face with the body of Agent Koenig. 

He told them all it couldn't be right. 

"Tell him, Jemma." 

Jemma started in on the evidence with her businesslike, even but clearly trembling voice. The tone told him so much, and he didn't want to hear it, but he tried to listen. So many facts, and then the litany just... trailed off. Stopped. 

"Ward killed him," she said, small and reluctant but sure. She was so brave. 

But it couldn't be. 

Ward was... Ward was Ward. He was the guy who Fitz had spent the last few weeks trying not to ogle too obviously while he trained Skye at the bag. The guy who'd saved him, saved Jem. Fitz shook his head, trying to get things to settle, to make any kind of sense. But it wasn't happening. Mike had gone bad too. None of it made _sense._

Antoine was trying to get him to calm down. Antoine-who-worked-with-Garrett. Antoine with the supernaturally incredible arms. Antoine-who-could-short-circuit-his-brain-faster-than-Ward was _crowding him a little bit_ right now. 

Attractive men could in no way be trusted. The signs were all there. And Fitz - Fitz couldn't trust himself right now, he clearly had terrible taste in everyone but Jemma. 

"Who are you, really?" he asked Triplett, yelling, scared and angry and hurting. 

Jemma did not need him to be like this, but he couldn't calm himself down, and he wouldn't trust Trip, wouldn't trust his intuition about Trip. Not now. 

He liked all the people in this room, he really did, but the Relationship Stuff was not helping him stay calm. So when Coulson went to lay a hand on his shoulder, talk him down, he was immensely grateful. 

Coulson was like a rock. Coulson was calm and right and you could always be certain of him. 

Coulson told him to focus on the work. 

He focused on the work. 

* * *

It was while the three of them were being interrogated by General Talbot that things finally did settle a little bit in Fitz's brain. 

Here was Jemma, and here was Antoine, and here was he, and they were not gonna give up the team, not for anything. He felt that. He felt the two of them beside him, determined, incredibly strong. He'd known that about Jemma. He'd only suspected it about Trip. But it was true, and now he knew it. 

As much as he knew anything. 

Damn it. 

* * *

He really didn't know anything for sure. 

Fitz hated himself for needing reassurance. But everything was being pulled out from under him recently, everything but Jemma, and he needed it. 

"Tell me you're not Hydra," he asked. 

Her face had that pained but understanding look it always got when Fitz was being ridiculous. But it never made him feel ridiculous. He just knew that he was. 

"I'm not Hydra," Simmons said. 

He babbled in relief, not even sure what he was actually saying, but needing to talk at her, get all the remaining tension out. 

And she reached out and put a hand on his knee, squeezing it tight, helping ground him. 

Jem was always so hesitant about touching him, afraid he'd take it wrong, that she'd step over some kind of invisible boundary. He was surprised, and pleased, that that boundary seemed to be fading away. He didn't want to have sex with her, but he did want _her._ Always. 

Things could never be too bad if they could sit here like this, enjoying each other and the water lapping across their ankles. 

* * *

Trip watched them from across the pool. He knew they needed time to talk to each other. 

But damn it, he was on vacation. Coulson had given the word. He had the night, at least, and he planned on enjoying himself. 

He bought a second bag of chips, gave himself an excuse to walk by them and offer them some. 

"Hey," he said. "Just so you know, you're both welcome to join me in my room. Take advantage of the, y'know, actual beds. Or whatever you're both up for." 

He touched them both casually in turn, and took the rest of the second bag of chips to his room to wait out their talk. 

He shucked off his jacket and shoes, lay on the bed, looked at the ceiling, and sighed. 

"So let's recap: the world is going to shit, SHIELD's at the top of that list, only people I trust right now are a team I just met who was carrying at least one Hydra mole without noticing. They're all traumatized. So am I. And I'm trying to get two of them, literally, in my bed." He shook his head at himself. "I must be crazy." 

But he waited, playing with a chip, because he had a feeling that they were going to show and it was going to be something worth signing up for. 

There was a knock on the door, and he went to answer it. FitzSimmons, of course, holding hands and looking hopeful and slightly wary. He waved them in, and shut the door. 

"Decided you wanted to put up with me after all, huh?" he asked Fitz, raising his eyebrows and smiling. 

"I need to apologize," Fitz said in answer. "I maybe haven't been as friendly as I could've been, considering I started all this and you just kind of went along with it. I just... I get worried, when it comes to Jemma. Specially when I remember how terrible I am at people. Machines, I can do. Machines don't lie." 

"Hey, I get it," Trip replied. "We're all a little bit off our game right now. I can't make you trust me, and I get it." 

"I do, that's the thing," Fitz said, beginning to be distressed again. "But I trusted Ward too." 

Trip pressed his lips together. "Me too," he said. "And Garrett." 

"Oh," breathed Simmons. She reached out to both of them, petting Fitz's hair and curling a hand around Triplett's neck. 

Fitz pressed up against her, familiar and warm. And Antoine leaned into her touch, eyes falling shut. 

"You're never going to need to find out what you'd do without me," she told Leo fiercely, through her teeth. "Remember that." She looked up at Antoine, who was regarding them both from under relaxed, still sagging eyelids. "And there is a place for you here. If you want it." 

He hummed a little, moving in until the other two could feel the vibrations in his great, solid chest. "Not sure where this is gonna end up," he said, "but for now, I'll take anything I can get. Right now, this team is all I have." 

"I'm not... entirely sure either," Simmons replied. "But I know I want you with us. You helped Fitz take care of me. Now I'd like you to help me take care of Fitz." 

"I can do that," said Trip. 

He reached out to Fitz, keeping his motions slow as the technician got used to having someone in his space, someone who wasn't Jemma. Someone who he was attracted to. Because Trip could tell that right now, in Fitz's head, attraction meant danger. 

This was going to maybe be more work than play. But it still fell firmly under recreation, and getting closer to his new team. 

"Jeez, you're tense," Trip said almost jokingly as his hands came to rest across Fitz's shoulders. Jemma was still pressed up close to both of them, rubbing Fitz's back gently. Trip moved his hands up and in, across Fitz's neck and into his hair, and Fitz shivered. "It's okay," Trip murmured. 

Fitz breathed out, and some of his tension fell away. He lifted his arms to lay his hands on Triplett's back. 

"That's better," Antoine said. "Now, can I kiss you?" 

"Yeah," Leo breathed, watching him. 

Trip kissed him, deep and slow and certain. 

Fitz was shaking again, Trip could feel it, but it was only paralyzing fear for an instant, and then Fitz was kissing back, holding tight to Triplett's back and pulling him closer. 

It was a little too sudden for Trip's comfort. He pulled back. "Hey, take it easy, okay?" he told Fitz. 

"I can't. I can't stop to think," Fitz protested. He pressed forward, trying to recapture Trip's mouth. 

"Yeah, yeah, you can," Triplett said, pressing down on Fitz's shoulders. "Slow down and breathe. Do you trust me?" 

Leo's answer was only a whine, and his fingers curled into Trip's shirt, bunching the material, and his forehead fell to Trip's chest, resting against his collarbone. 

"Breathe," Trip repeated, and Fitz did. "Good. It's okay." 

"Fitz, Fitz," Simmons said softly, still brushing calming fingertips across his back. "You don't have to do this. Not at all. We'll do whatever's really okay with you." 

Fitz took another deep breath. "I don't want to be afraid of everybody anymore," he said. "Afraid of when things get messy." He looked up at Antoine again. "Wanna prove to myself that it's worthwhile." 

His eyes were steady on Trip's this time, more settled. 

"All right," Triplett said. "Let's try this again." 

He kissed Fitz, softer this time, leaving one hand on his shoulder and lifting his chin with the other, making sure there was no shaking, no hesitation. Fitz finally, finally relaxed into it, sighed, sank against Antoine. And he hummed, pressing his tongue into Trip's mouth, trying to get closer to the other man instead of trying to fight himself. 

Jemma made a soft, pleased noise, watching them. "That's better," she murmured. 

The kiss lasted a few moments longer before they broke apart and caught their breath. "Are you really on board with this, now?" Trip asked. 

"Yes," Fitz answered, eyes closed and breathing against Antoine's face. 

Trip grinned, wide and happy. "Good," he said, and gave Fitz's cheek another quick little kiss. "Because I would really like to get some real action going on here. You two are gonna drive me crazy. You know that? Both your hot little scientist asses." His body flexed under Fitz's hands, swinging his hips forward, making Fitz gasp at being in sudden contact with him from knees to chest. 

Fitz frowned in an adorably overwhelmed way, breathed again, and then experimentally pressed forward to grind against Antoine, pulling himself up and in by hands that were now hooked around Trip's shoulders. 

There was a moment that, from the outside, was just harsh breath, but the two men were lost in the sensations of each other's flesh, even through so many layers of clothing. Then Fitz shook his head just slightly, and said, "Oh, I did miss this," in a slightly broken voice. 

Antoine just had to kiss him again. 

It was deep and hot and slightly biting, but not wild and uncontrolled the way the first kiss had been. Fitz's hands, still hooked behind him and over his shoulders, kept them close, giving them leverage to continue to move against each other; one of Trip's hands encircled Fitz's back, and the other combed through his hair. 

Simmons had stepped back now, just watching, appreciating the sight of them both. But she also took the moment to slip out of her jacket and remove her bra. Even if she wasn't going to be directly involved, she intended to get comfortable and claim a good seat. 

Antoine spotted her as she took a seat on the bed. "Oh, now _she's_ got the right idea," he said, smirking. "Less clothes, more horizontal surfaces? Sounds good to me." 

"Hmm, agreed," said Fitz, but he just kept kissing Trip, short but hungry motions, and arms now around the taller man's neck. It was as if now that he'd started, he didn't know how to stop. 

Triplett was more than fine with that, he could multitask, so he kept kissing and moved his hands lower, slowly, making his intentions clear before he slipped his hands under the bulk of Fitz's sweater. Leo's movements hitched just a little, then he went right back to delving into Trip's mouth. 

Trip let his hands slide up, firm against the fabric of Fitz's shirt, up along his ribs to his shoulderblades. His thumbs towed the thick fabric up, following the movement of his hands. "Arms up," he instructed with the comfortable ease of a medic, and Fitz followed automatically, letting Antoine lift the sweater away. He tossed it aside, and got his hands back on Fitz, feeling his body through the thinner shirt, strong and nicely slim but slightly softer than the men he was used to. He hummed, mouth curling up in a satisfied smile. "You're the sweetest thing," he said. "You know that? I've been looking forward to this ever since you invited me to your bunk on the bus." 

"Really?" Fitz replied, smiling back slightly self-consciously. "Thought I was the only one." His fingers drifted over Trip's arms, up under the sleeves of his tee. 

"Come here," Triplett said, shifting in the direction of the bed. He kissed Fitz one more time before he sank down onto the fluffy layers of fabric. "Good evening, Ma'am," he said to Jemma, turning to kiss her too. "You doing all right?" 

"I am having a very good evening, thank-you," she answered with a sharp nod and a little smile. "Please, continue." 

Antoine grinned, chuckling at her. "Later, then," he said. He reached out a hand to Fitz. 

Fitz clambered onto Triplett's lap, clumsy in his enthusiasm. Trip gathered him in, setting one hand on Fitz's thigh and the other at the back of his neck, and they shared another kiss, wet and filthy and grinding. They both made noise as their bodies moved against each other again, Trip's voice deep and rumbling and Fitz's more desperate. Fitz rolled his hips against Triplett's with increasing force, breathing hard. "Not gonna last long, I'm afraid," he gasped. "Been too long." 

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Trip said with a smile, rucking up Fitz's shirt now. He lay back on the pillows. "I'm here for you right now, all right?" He quickly shucked off his shirt and spread his arms for a moment to show himself laid out for perusal. "What do you need? Take it." 

Fitz's mouth fell open a little at the offering before him. He had trouble finding the presence of mind to answer. "...Yes," he got out finally. "...I mean, come back up here and give me a hand." 

Trip smirked. "I can do that." He leaned in again, kissing Fitz slow and shallow to leave space for their panting breaths while he reached down and rubbed across Leo's still clothed crotch. Fitz whimpered, and the hand curled at the back of Antoine's neck tightened a little. 

"Yeah," said Trip, "you just need a little bit of help with that, don't you? An expert touch?" 

"Yes," answered Fitz, rocking faster now. "Please." 

So Triplett carefully but efficiently undid Fitz's pants, rubbed against the swell of his cock through the softer fabric of his underwear for a moment, then slipped it out until the bare, swollen skin rested against his hand. 

Fitz was surprisingly loud, even when he was trying not to be. His yelp morphed into a long groan as Trip's fingers ran the length up and down, then a loud gasp as the large, competent brown fingers squeezed and kneaded. 

It really didn't take long after that, Fitz pressing as close as he could and still rocking into Antoine, letting that hand chase his pleasure for him, then, gasping out garbled expressions of his need, completely letting go. Spilling over them both with a long groan. 

Trip held him through it, motions slowing but focus remaining on Fitz and what he needed, until Fitz was limp and exhausted and shaking just slightly, and Antoine lowered him to the bed and skritched fingers through his hair. 

"Well, that works out very well, doesn't it?" Jemma commented from Trip's other side. Her voice was a few shades huskier than usual, and Triplett really had to turn and look at her. She smiled at him, pupils blown and shirt unbuttoned. 

"Yeah, I thought it might," he answered. "So, what's the lady got in mind?" 

"Oh, nothing too terribly adventurous," she said, pulling him in to kiss him, slow and lingering. "I'm assuming you've got a condom?" 

"Yeah, hang on," he said, reaching over her to his shaving bag where it sat on the table. He reached one out and flipped it to where she could see it, and then put it back down closer. His eyes tracked back to her, then, laid out under him and looking quite happy to be there. He grinned. "Just like this?" 

"More or less," she agreed, and let her hands roam over his bare chest, rubbing his nipples. 

He hummed, very pleased with that, and leaned down to kiss her neck, reminding himself of all the sensitive spots he'd discovered during their little makeout session on the plane. He dug teeth gently into one of them, which earned him a pleased noise, and then moved the edges of her shirt apart with his teeth, uncovering her breasts before nuzzling at them with his beardy face. 

"Oh!" she gasped, and her nails dug into his back just a little. He grinned into the soft skin of her chest. 

One of his hands roamed down, then, skimming her bare stomach, tugging at the hem of her soft black pants. "This all right, beautiful?" he asked. 

"Yes!" she answered breathlessly. "Oh, the two of you were absolutely gorgeous together. I'm ready for my turn already!" 

"Glad to hear that," Trip told her. "I'm running pretty hot just from watching _him._ " He stripped off her pants and underwear and lowered a hand to her mound, rubbing light, exploratory circles and watching Jemma's face for the reactions. 

Her mouth opened just slightly and her whole body sort of flexed and squirmed with reaction, so he kept going as he was, increasing the pressure by degrees until her hands clenched over his arms and she whined, her face forming a sort of tragically joyful awe. 

"You about ready?" Trip asked her. He was about to burst from so much beautiful and no one had even touched his dick. It was gonna be tragic soon. 

"Yes!" Jemma said emphatically, eyes wide and pleading, and rolling just a bit in exasperation. "I need you inside me now, Agent Triplett!" 

That made him laugh, but it also made him roll over right quick and practically rip off his pants in his rush to give the lady what she wanted. He knelt up to grab the condom and seat it properly, then leaned over her again, sucking a nipple into his mouth for a moment, then letting it go in favor of opening her with his fingers and finally sliding inside. 

She made a lost, almost wounded noise, and clutched at him, mouth opening wider now. She was soft and warm and bright-eyed and enthusiastic, everything he still needed in his night to make it perfect. 

He slid out and then in again, closing his eyes for a brief moment to savor how that felt, and then he needed to look at Jemma again as he pressed into her a third and fourth and fifth time, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in tighter with every thrust. 

She looked as if she was listening to the air around them sing. 

Antoine pushed his pace, needing her. He kissed her, deep and messy. He was close. "You close?" he asked Jemma. 

"Ye - yes," she answered. "Think so." She lowered a hand to work herself, keening at the resulting combination. She arched, right on the edge, waves of pleasure piercing her with every thrust. 

Trip was so close, but he needed a little of what had gotten him here in the first place. He looked over at Fitz, lying limply on the other side of the mattress, all flushed and well-spent. He was watching them, and he looked content, and sort of empty. Antoine gave him an appreciative look, maybe even something that could be called adoring. And he rocked into Jemma twice, three more times, and came inside her just after she'd yelled with her own breaking wave of pleasure. Trip opened his eyes, and gave a startled sort of sigh as it touched every cell in his body at once, and then the world held its breath for them, all three of them, so that that moment could be longer. 

"Mmm," Trip sighed, leaning his forehead on Jemma's chest. "That. That was." 

"Spectacular," Fitz provided, sounding less empty now. He'd enjoyed watching Triplett's body in action, his face as he came. But mostly it had been that look trip had given him. He was no longer so afraid that the other two would leave him behind. 

Jemma hummed against the top of Trip's head. "A-greed," she sighed contentedly. "So glad we did this." 

They all were.


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz watched, very entertained, as Coulson and Triplett geeked out over the suitcase of ancient SHIELD tech that Antoine had returned with. It was great stuff - not Fitz's tech, so he was going to take a little bit to get used to it, but very useful. 

It didn't really warrant some of the comments that were being made, though. Fitz gave Coulson a Look as Skye joked about them getting a room, or something. It wasn't something that Fitz felt particularly joking about, just at the moment. 

A twinge of jealousy made him want to show off his knowledge of the gear instead of having Trip and Coulson continue to bond over it. But, the showing off didn't work so well. There could have stood to be less fire. Anyway. Afterwards, Fitz wondered when his jealous nature had extended to him being possessive of Triplett. 

* * *

They retrieved the Cybertech files and were going through them when the conversation inevitably turned to Ward again. Because there had to be something. Mechanical exploding eyeballs, or mind control, or something. Some reason Ward was doing what he was doing. 

Something Fitz could _do something about._

But the others dismissed his theories out of hand. 

Well, he didn't need to convince them. He just needed to believe it himself, and do everything he could to get his friend Grant Ward back. 

* * *

The team made plans to go into Cuba, deciding to split up and saying their farewells. Triplett pushed equipment on Fitz, sounding worried about not being in the same place, and Fitz acquiesced. It was awesome stuff, after all. In response, Trip held out a fist. Leo Fitz knew when a bro fist was being presented to him, thank you very much, but it wasn't the vibe he wanted for his last touch between himself and Trip before they went off in separate directions, so he sort of half-pretended to be confused, and reached to squeeze the offered hand instead. Triplett just smiled, warm and knowing. 

He was always so warm. That was one of the very best and very most annoying things about him. He never got embarrassed, or awkward. He was always just warm and welcoming. 

He was, as Fitz had previously determined, pretty much perfect. 

And with what Fitz knew of the world and how it worked, that was something that was much harder to believe. 

* * *

Leo Fitz might not be very good with human things like having a normal relationship or mingling at parties, but some things he knew. And he knew that Grant Ward was not evil. 

Everything had been a little bit precarious there for a while, but he'd been very well reassured that he could trust in the goodness of Jemma, and trust in the goodness of Antoine, and he'd never doubted Phil's motives, even when the senior agent's judgement had started to look a bit questionable. Leo Fitz knew something about every person on this team, and it was that they cared about the other people on the team. Cared if they lived or died. 

And Fitz trusted himself to know that. Jemma and Antoine had helped him find that again. 

So when Ward found the two of them sneaking around near the Bus, Fitz knew he had to fight in every way he could, fight for Ward's goodness. 

Because Grant Ward was a good man. 

It wasn't just attraction. It wasn't. Fitz had never been blind to Ward's flaws. Fitz saw Ward. He watched. Fitz fought without hesitation to protect himself and Jemma, but he watched Ward, and he willed the man to see what he was doing to the team, and to stop. He pled Grant to turn, to fight with them again, not against them. To choose the other of the two paths he was struggling with. 

Because Fitz could see the struggle in Grant's face. It was real. There was no question that the man cared. 

It was just that he was deciding between Garrett and the team. And Fitz wished he knew more, now, about what was between them. Because that same pain and worry was in his face when he looked at Garrett as when he looked at them. 

Ward wasn't evil. He'd been twisted; he'd been used. He loved the wrong people. He couldn't help it. 

And that was something Fitz could maybe understand. 

* * *

He and Jemma fought off the guards (the bus was their home ground, after all) but ran into Ward on the way out. Adrenaline shot through Fitz. He knew it was bad, but he couldn't help a little bit of renewed hope at the thought that he had another chance to convince Ward to turn. 

They shut themselves in an isolation chamber, a sheet of bulletproof glass between them and Ward. Fitz just kept talking, trying to get Ward to see what he should do, what he could do. 

"He doesn't care," Simmons tried to tell him. 

Leo refused to believe that. "He's our friend," he countered. "We've had laughs together." 

But Ward's face had gone cold. He turned around, towards the control panel for the chamber. 

No. He'd been so close. Fitz knew he'd been close. 

"Look at me!" he yelled through the glass. 

Fitz _knew_ \- he _KNEW_ \- that if he could make Ward turn around and look at them, the man he knew was in there would not be able to do this to them. 

Ward never turned around.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything Jemma said was poetry. If these were Leo Fitz's last hours of consciousness, all he wanted to do was sit and listen to her. 

Her ideas, her thoughts, everything that was her - how would the world go on without it? 

How would he? 

He remembered her saying that he'd never have to find out. 

And that was true. If nothing else, he knew he wouldn't live to see that. He couldn't take it. Not again. Not after he'd had to watch her _throw herself out of the back of a plane...._

Well, they'd both die together this time, he thought, and it was strangely comforting. 

And it was while he was in the middle of contemplating that that he saw her face go from wistful to hopeful to inspired to excited, and his belly filled with leaden hope. He'd considered everything, hadn't he? Even if they got out.... 

He knew there was only enough air for one breath. He knew the chances without it were extremely slim. 

But he couldn't bear to dull the excitement on Jemma's face just yet. Not just yet. 

He could have her, happy, for just a little while longer, and that, that was everything right now. That was all he needed. 

They planned everything, fixed everything up, went over the mechanics, and Fitz pressed the air canister into Simmons's hand. "The force should be enough to inflate your lungs," he said, powering through the necessary instructions, not letting her stop him. 

When she realized what he meant, that it was for her, and her only, she argued, of course, but he absolutely could not let her die if he could help it. Not after he'd watched it happen, watched her come too close. 

He tried to explain. "You're my very best friend, and so much more, and I couldn't live if you didn't." 

Jemma shook her head. "It's the same for me. You've always been there, been perfect, and...." 

"No, because I've told you how much more you are to me than that. But I haven't been able to _show_ you. Not properly. Let me show you." 

"No, no," she said, and she enveloped him in her arms, blessing every plane of his face with kisses. This was her love, less restrained than it ever had been, and he reveled in it. 

But she'd survive without him. Trip would help, Antoine would take care of her. Fitz believed that. He _knew_ it. 

He reached for the control panel. She saw, and burst into movement, shock and distress on her face - but the burning alcohol was faster, and the world turned to chaos, pressure, and blackness. 

* * *

There was nothing, nothing, nothing worse than being stuck in a glass chamber for her own safety when her stupid, self-sacrificing other half was stupidly dying somewhere outside of it. 

And... she was so angry at him for that, until she remembered Fitz's face pressed up against the lab doors as she stood on the edge of the cargo ramp. 

Then... then, she truly felt as if she was breaking in two. She'd done this to him, and he'd forgiven her. 

How could she do any less? 

* * *

It was hours before she came out of decompression, and... 

...and Fitz was... 

he wasn't waking up. 

So she sat, and she watched the machines, watched the little wiggles on the EEG, and she talked to him. She told him... she told him that he had to come back. That she needed him to. 

Every minute he failed to answer, to come home to her, she died a little. 

She only left his side after the first twelve hours, the period when statistics told her he'd wake if there wasn't going to be serious brain damage. And it broke her heart to leave him then, but it would have broken it further to stay, watching for him to wake, waiting to see the symptoms on his amazing, quirky, and unbearably precious brain. 

Now, if he woke up (Oh God, _if!_ What a terrible word!), he wouldn't quite be her Fitz, not right away, and possibly never. 

She needed... she needed... to be somewhere else, to get something done, to not dwell on the possibilities of what might be left behind those eyes, if, when, they opened. 

But still, she hated, hated that she needed that, hated to leave his side. 

It had been... more like sixteen hours, by the time she dragged herself away. 

(She kept hoping, of course. Kept going to leave, and getting caught in the doorway, half-expecting to see those bright eyes peeking out at her, full of life and humor.) 

(Kept telling herself he was waiting for that last ironic little moment, when she really was about to leave.) 

(She tried to _really leave_ about twenty-two times.) 

* * *

It felt so strange to be walking back onto the Bus by herself. 

Skye hugged her first, and the rest took their turns, except for Triplett, who hung back. 

She felt as if she'd been crying almost constantly for the last day and a half, at least, and everything started it up again, everything made her remember something she'd done with Fitz or something Fitz had said. And she felt as if she ought to be empty, now, but more grief kept rising out of her, choking her, seeping all over everything she tried to perceive. 

The others had each given her one last shoulder rub and gone off to their base quarters, to sleep off the various train wrecks that had been their days. And once they were all out of sight, all except Trip, Trip stepped up to her, finally, and wrapped strong arms around her. He didn't have any words. There weren't any words. 

There was only Jemma's high hum of distress, starting out quiet and building, gaining momentum as she let herself need, let herself voice that bottomless well of grief. 

She heard Trip swallow. He hadn't signed up for this. He wasn't her boyfriend, hadn't been beside her for long at all, and had never given any sign that he thought of the two of them as more than trusted team members who he happened to have slept with. The only thing he'd been asked, and the only thing he'd answered, was that first request, and variations on it: 

"Help me take care of her." 

Jemma trusted that they'd chosen right, and she clung to him, because she needed something. Needed bright eyes and competent arms and.... 

...she needed _Fitz._

Sobs ripped out of her, ripped her open. 

Trip sighed, and rubbed her back, and did that thing where he stared at the ceiling as if asking for guidance. 

"Let's go to bed," he said finally. "Come on. Not leaving you alone, but I'm guessing it's been a fucking long-ass day for the both of us." 

She didn't resist, and so he towed her along, finding the quarters where her things were, undressing her and helping her into pajamas with the careful utility of a medical professional, and slow, solemn motions in respect to her state of mind. Then he pulled her in tight, maneuvering her gently onto the bed and into the position of little spoon, where she lay, limp and finally empty enough to attempt something resembling real rest. 

The air scraped against her sinuses, and the uncertainty about Fitz's brain wore at her mind, but she slept. 

Antoine had her. 


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a long time since she'd woken up in someone's arms, and for a moment it made her think of when she was small, and she fell asleep in the car and her father would have to carry her inside. 

Well. 

For far too long, she'd been in love with someone who she was afraid to touch. She needed some new associations. 

She turned in Trip's arms, looking to see if he was awake. 

He had a dear, peaceful sleeping face, and he must have been tired, all the fighting the rest of the team did, taking out Garrett and Ward and the Centipede soldiers, and worrying about whether the two of them were going to come back okay. 

He must have done. 

He was here, wasn't he, wrapped around her as if she was a precious thing that needed to be protected. 

That made her angry for just a flash of a moment before she remembered how much she felt that way about Fitz, how she'd protect him in any way she could. 

But she'd failed. 

Trip needed to know that _he_ hadn't. 

Jemma curled into his body, putting an arm around him, and kissed his cheek before she whispered, "Antoine?" 

He stirred a little, arms tightening around her body slightly, and then he opened one eye to peer at her. He smiled when he saw her, not happy, precisely, just glad she was there and calm. 

"Hey," he said. 

"Hi," she answered, still sounding tired, but no longer quite so broken. "Thank you for this. I couldn't have... I didn't know how to keep going." 

"Not a problem," he said. He lifted one hand to her hair, smoothing it back, and tucked her head back under his chin, drawing out the moment of unhurried peace. 

She sighed, and let him, knowing she needed the rest from her worries and fears and scattered, desperate thoughts of the day before. 

"I just want to stay here," she murmured, the words slurring into something so unlike her usual precise enunciation. "I don't know how to live, out there, without him to come back to. I didn't know how much." 

"Okay," Trip answered. "For now." 

But idleness truly wasn't in her nature, and it was only another twenty minutes before she knew she had to move, had to face the world as it was, as it could be for the rest of her life, without Fitz. 

She sat up, and beside her, Trip did too, standing up and heading for a shower. "Be right back," he told her. "Okay?" 

She nodded, but it almost wasn't. She stood, looking around, a little lost, for a few minutes before remembering what she was meant to be doing, then she opened her bag and stood looking into it. First step? Pajamas off. Right. She started in on the buttons. 

It was such a relief when Trip came back in with a towel around his waist, and she could mirror some of his motions, follow his momentum. It made pulling on her clothes so much easier, somehow. It was an unusually long time before it struck her that not only was he getting dressed here, but that he had brought his bag to her room rather than claiming his own. 

When they both looked presentable, he asked, "Breakfast? Think you could eat?" 

The words just tumbled out, "Anything but pancakes," and she was immediately self-conscious about the fact that her eyes were swimming with tears _again._

But Trip just nodded, and held the door for her, gesturing her through. 

She took a big breath, and let it out, willing herself to appear human, like she had some life in her, and she walked out to face the world. 

* * *

It was a relief and a terror when the hospital called. 

"He's awake," the doctor told her. "And he's talking, seems pretty present, so that's good. But there has been some impairment of function." 

"What kind?" she asked, setting her jaw. 

"There's been some loss of motor function, his short-term memory is inconsistent, and he's having a tiny bit of trouble with vocabulary." 

She breathed, and nodded to herself, trying to be okay with it. "I'm coming to see him," she said. 

"Good," the doctor answered. "I'm sure a familiar face will be reassuring." 

Once they'd hung up, she turned to Trip, who hadn't strayed far from her side all morning. 

"Come with me?" she asked. 

"Of course," he answered easily. "Leo's team, and team is family, the way Grampa always talked about it. Didn't really get that myself, until this team." 

She smiled a little bit, at that. 

She could smile. Fitz was awake, alive and fighting. 

* * *

It was good, so, so good to see him, eyes bright and smiling at her. 

"Jemma!" he greeted enthusiastically. He gave her a wide but closed-mouthed smile, like he was drinking in her presence. "And..." his face fell a little. "I know your name, guy, don't think I would forget it, I've just... lost it, temporarily." He raised a wavering hand to point vaguely to his head. "Silly thing's out of order. Frustrating as anything. Know how to fix the bots' brains right up, but mine? Not so easy. But it's getting better already. Anyway," he said, looking earnestly and apologetically at Trip, "I'm glad you're here." His words were a little fumbling, but to those who knew him, perfectly understandable. 

"Hey," Trip said, taking Fitz's wandering hand. "Comes with the territory, right? I know that, I'm the bodies and injuries expert here." 

It was a relief to Jemma the way Triplett stepped in first, stopped the disconcertingly vague motion of that hand, so unlike the dextrous movements of the man who designed, built and maintained such tiny, precise robots. 

It wasn't hard to smile anyway, because so much of what she feared she'd lost had already come back to her. 

"Fitz," she said, coming to sit by the other side of his bed and running fingers through his hair, careful of the cast on his arm. She sighed happily. "I'm so glad you woke up. I didn't know what I was going to do if you didn't." 

"You would've been okay," he said softly, but she just shook her head at him, crying all over again. 

They stayed for a long time, long enough for him to get the news about the rest of the team and Garrett and Deathlok, and forget it again, several times over, and for him to trip over several words and get very frustrated about it, especially since they tended to be technical terms, things that it was really very hard to explain without that particular word. Jemma managed only to laugh at him once, and that was when it turned out he'd forgotten the word 'dongle,' which Simmons found amusing on general principles. 

They were really going to be okay. 

* * *

In the following week, Fitz's memory improved a lot, and new things had started to stick more than half the time. His speech and motions were also progressively more precise, with practice. The doctors and Jemma made encouraging noises about his blood test results. He still had a long way to go, but he was itching to get back to the team and their work. 

The doctors said he could check out, but that they wanted to make sure he was going to be taken care of, get proper therapy and enough rest. 

Trip said that he would take care of that, asked questions about the mental aspects of treatment, and gave them reassurances that he'd treated the physical aspects of cases like this. 

"I've never asked about your training," she told him as they left the hospital. "You were a doctor, before you joined SHIELD? That's impressive." 

Trip shook his head. "Nah, I was a physical therapist for three years and had just finished first responder training when SHIELD recruited me. Never had the patience for med school. My mom always wanted me to go, though." He shook his head. "No doctorates in my back pocket. Why I trained in Operations instead of SciTech." 

Fitz looked up at him from the wheelchair as Trip rolled it towards their van. "You wanted to go into SciTech?" 

"I wanted to know everything," Trip replied. "Biology and medicine especially. But every time I went to school, I'd get impatient to go out and help people, and every time I've had to help people, I've found something else I wanted to know about. So, my knowledge tends towards a little of everything. Ops with a specialty in field medicine was the first thing to really catch my attention for longer than a two-year program. When I wasn't learning bodies, I was learning tech." 

"Yeah, you do seem to know the gear," Fitz said, voice full of admiration and slight jealousy. "How many of the SHIELD-issue vehicles are you qualified to pilot?" 

"Just about all of 'em," Trip said. "The Bus was on ice while I was in the Academy, so I didn't get to practice, but I'm sure I could handle it." 

They went on to talk about the design and engineering of VTOL propulsion systems, Trip from a slightly more practical perspective and Fitz more theoretical, and Fitz only lost a couple of words, and Trip was incredibly patient. 

Simmons was so grateful for him, and the way he seemed to know what to do with all of this - the therapy Fitz was going to need, and how to distract him with information and stories that would interest him, but wasn't so much about the work Fitz couldn't really do right now. 

* * *

Triplett spoke to Coulson on his behalf, advocating for his being kept on the team, paying forward what Simmons had done for Trip after the collapse of SHIELD. Coulson listened, and nodded, and said that they'd give it a shot. 

A chance to prove himself. After Skye, after Akela, Fitz knew it'd be more than fair. 

Being back in the lab, with all the finicky little tech and creations of his, was the hardest thing for Fitz. He wanted to reach out for them, take care of them properly, but his hands just wouldn't cooperate. 

Simmons was being her ever-so-helpful self, offering to do every little thing for him, and it just made it all worse. Eventually Fitz yelled for everyone to get out, and they did, heading up to the lounge and leaving him with his work spread out in front of him and no way to do it but to will his hands to work. 

This was what he did, he could do this. He could figure it out. 

* * *

There was a crash from the lab, followed by a howl of frustration, and Trip and Simmons hurried back down the stairs. 

There was a mess of fallen equipment on the floor, and Fitz sat in his chair, slumped back, with his uninjured arm over his face. 

"Oh, Fitz," Simmons said, and it sounded exactly the way he knew it would, exactly how it always sounded, but it bothered him so much more now. "What happened here?" 

"Hands won't listen to me, that's what happened," Fitz half-growled. Jemma nodded sadly and began picking up the scattered pieces. 

"That's gonna happen, probably a lot," Trip said, not letting him get away with brushing this off and continuing the way he had been. 

"I know that," he replied. "But bein' back here, all the old patterns fall into place, and I keep forgettin' that my hands won't work the way they used to, and I try to do things..." 

Jemma's forehead got all knotted up as she listened. "You'll get used to it," she said. "And it'll get better. Right, Antoine?" 

"Chances are good," was all Trip could tell her. 

"Maybe I shouldn't be here. I'm not really qualified for this job anymore, am I?" 

Simmons rushed to him. "No, no, you belong here with the team, all right?" She took his face in her hands and she kissed his cheeks in turn. "We're going to work this out. We won't leave you behind." 

"I don't want you to get slowed down because of me, though," he said, his voice wobbling. "I couldn't bear it if you depending on me got one of you hurt. So maybe you should leave me behind." 

"Never," said Simmons loyally. 

Fitz half-smiled at her, then turned his eyes on Antoine, as if pleading for a clearer answer. 

Trip sighed, and he leaned down, resting hands on his knees as he spoke to Fitz. "Do you still want to be here?" 

He thought about it seriously. 

Going home to spend time with Mum would be easier, but 'easier' would probably bore him out of his skull. 

And he couldn't leave Jemma, not if there was still a chance he could do something to help her stay safe through all this mess, rebuilding SHIELD. 

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else." 

But he really did need help with everything, and he was going to have to figure out how to accept that. 

* * *

Jemma and Skye worked together to help him reprogram the default interface on his tablet, giving it large buttons and an extensive set of decision trees. It would be slower to do anything than it had been, but much easier for his capabilities now. 

Skye seemed a little wary of the new sharpness of his temper, a little concerned about how to act around him, but once they got into discussion about kinetic parameters and tolerances and how to code for them, she fell right into the problem, and it wasn't awkward anymore. 

He did what he could to teach the little bots to do maintenance on each other and all the other equipment he was responsible for, and it was, of course, frustrating, but every time he successfully accomplished something, even simple things, he got a surge of pleasure, and for now, those occasional high points would have to be enough. 

* * *

It was always hard to wake up on base, and look around like everything was normal, like nothing had changed, and then to have to remember all over again when his body wouldn't do what he wanted it to. 

At least they had Trip, now, to help them take care of each other, but that wasn't always entirely a comfort to Fitz. 

Because another thing Fitz was learning to dread was how, in his physical therapy sessions, it was made so completely clear how weak his body had become. Fitz was already not entirely convinced that Antoine had found him attractive _before_ this whole disaster. Now, it was extremely hard to believe. 

It would have almost been easier to have a stranger do this, but after Hydra, after Ward, trust was a precious commodity, and Fitz didn't want anyone else seeing the extent of his weakness. 

They battled it out, some days, because Fitz didn't even want to admit to himself how helpless he'd become. He especially didn't want to have it measured and plotted and strategized about. 

"I know the exercises by now," he told Triplett. "Sure I can get them done somehow without you gawking." 

"I need to check you over, and you still need a spotter," Trip countered. "Especially for the balance exercises." 

"Well, what if I'm sick of you?" Fitz said, but without any real heat, just needing to say it. 

"Let me help you with this, Leo. I want to help. It would mean a lot to me if I could get you walking again." 

Leo's face scrunched, and he pushed Trip's hands away frustratedly. "Let's not do that today, all right? I don't need to be able to walk to do my job in the labs. Never gonna go in the field again, and that's okay. That I can accept. But I _need_ my arms to work. That's the priority, I just want to work on that the whole time." 

"Hey, that's not the attitude," Trip replied in a light tone. "It's going to be slow, and it's going to be hard, and you're not gonna help your arms get better faster by being angry and making them work twice as hard. So we can do arms and upper body first today, the usual routine, and then if you're tired, we can stop for the day. But if you want to keep going, we're gonna move on to the rest, all right?" 

Fitz sighed. "Yeah," he said. "All right." 

* * *

There was a strictly drawn line between Trip-the-medical-specialist and Trip-who-slept-with-FitzSimmons. His focus was so different; his hands felt different on Fitz's skin. But the other was always still there, a knowing grin during therapy or a thoughtful look when Fitz didn't respond quite as expected to a caress. 

Fitz was always surprised when he saw that switch flip, when they were just hanging out in the down time between work and sessions, and the last couple of times he'd bowed out after a few hard-to-resist kisses, because he couldn't imagine that Trip actually wanted to take care of him that way, too. 

He was already doing a lot more than Fitz would have ever asked for. 

"I'm pretty tired," he said this time, too, although he coudn't keep the regret out of his voice. 

"Uh-huh," Antoine said, looking at him piercingly. "Level with me. Is that really why you keep doing this? Because if it is, that's fine, but Jemma an' I really miss you." 

"You miss who I was," Fitz told him. When Trip didn't immediately counter that, he continued. "Why are you even still here?" 

"What kind of a question is that?" Trip looked annoyed now. "I'm here because I want you, all right? Plain and simple. You being injured doesn't change that. I've seen people in all kinds of conditions, okay, and one thing you get, after a while, we're all just people, maybe in different states of repair, but it's the life inside that matters." 

"Well, I've a little bit of trouble right now seeing what's so great about a Leopold Fitz who can't do 'is job anymore, so why don't you tell me what the appeal is?" 

Trip sighed and looked heavenward before deciding on what to say. "It's your spirit, all right? I spend a lot of time imagining what people's energy would look like, if I could see it. You spark like crazy and Jemma? She glows brighter than just about anyone I've ever met." 

"That makes sense," said Fitz. "Well, the part about Jemma, at least. She's like a little fairy, glowing from deep down inside, and there's absolutely no way to put it out. Not that you'd want to. Down in the transfer unit, there at the bottom, I'd given up, but she just kept on being her bright and beautiful self. She got us out of there. Couldn't have done it without her." 

"She's great. She's strong. And so are you. You're doing really well. A lot of people get frustrated about these types of injuries. The kind of frustrated where they push everyone away and wait to die. That's not you. And it never will be. Because you're always going to be waiting for the next time you get to spark up bright. And when you do, it's gonna be brilliant." 

Fitz smiled, a sort of lost, discouraged thing, but it let Trip know he was trying, and that was, by far, the most important thing. 

He still didn't let things get farther with Trip. He had a lot to think about, first. 


	6. Chapter 6

It was one thing, sleeping on base and going to work on the Bus. Having Trip or Simmons wheel him up the ramp wasn't too bad, and down, he could do himself - he could rely on his arm for that, at least. 

But the huge aircraft was back in working order, and the team was making noises about taking it out to find other people in need of rescue. 

Either someone would have to help him up those damn spiral stairs every time he wanted to go to his bunk, or he'd have to find somewhere on the lower deck to bed down. 

"Whichever you want," Trip told him. "I'm up for the climb." 

After a lot of thought and a considerable amount of angst, Fitz decided that he really was okay with taking Antoine up on his offer. He missed his bunk. 

He missed his life. 

* * *

"Is he all right?" Jemma asked when Trip slipped out of Fitz's bunk. He slid right to her and wrapped his arms around her. 

"He's pretty flattened," Trip answered. "Snoring away already, I think. He didn't want any more help than absolutely necessary getting up those stairs. He's fighting, but more important he's learning when to fight and when to ask for help. He's gonna be okay, Jemma." 

She smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you for everything you've done for him," she said. 

"It's what I do," he answered. "If I can help, I'm there. That's the way it's gonna be." 

Her smile went soft, and then thoughtful and slightly surprised, her eyes unfocused and attention gone inward. 

"You all right?" he asked. 

"Oh, yes," she said, eyes focusing on him again. "Well, worrying, of course. The mission, and Fitz, and... everything." She bit her lip slightly as she looked up at him. "Would it be terribly selfish of me to ask you to keep me company tonight?" 

Trip's grin widened out slowly across his face. "Pleasure really would be all mine," he told her, and he let his fingers lace through her hair, leaning in, breathing her in. 

But the day had been tiring for them too, and all they did was get into Simmons's bunk, arms resting curled around each other and small smiles of contentment slowly relaxing into the slack of sleep. 

* * *

The next day they were at their destination, a SHIELD frequency distress beacon coming from under one of their remote Alaskan bases. HYDRA sleepers had taken the base but were unable to capture the last of the loyal SHIELD personnel, who had barricaded themselves inside a storeroom. 

Triplett and May went in, and Coulson, Skye and FitzSimmons congregated in the command center, monitoring the comms and available data streams. Skye hacked into the base comms, which took some doing, as they were secured against anyone without the (presumably Hydra) passcode. 

They got in, May silently taking out two of the HYDRA agents who got in their way, and they made it to the storage room, signalling the agents that rescue was here and they could come out of their fortifications. There were three of them, and May scrutinized each of them in turn before providing them with weapons. 

They were on their way out when the trouble started. 

"They've detected you and are engaging defenses," Coulson warned through the comms. "What kind isn't clear." 

"I think I see something. The shimmer in that doorway a second ago? That looked like the same kind of laser grid that Quinn kept around his compound," May said. "I wouldn't want to risk trying to step through there right now." 

"I did not know about those," one of the rescued agents told them. 

"Oh, yeah, Hydra's just full of surprises," Trip replied. "Definitely not in the specs. Maybe we can find a way around?" 

"Only other way out is through the control room," the agent said, and yeah, that did sound right. Damn. 

"We'll head there, then," May said, letting no hesitation or misgivings enter her tone. 

But there were more laser barriers, and soon the Hydra agents had them trapped between two fields, searching for any other way out. And there were smiling Hydra faces, very well armed, awaiting them from the control room. 

"Hold your positions," Coulson told them. "We'll form a second team, see if we can get to you some other way. Skye?" 

"You won't make it in time to save them," Simmons said worriedly. 

"Maybe not, but we have to try," the director said. 

"Wait," said Fitz. "I might have a better idea. And I need Skye for it, so just please, don't steal her away quite yet." 

"What do you need?" Skye said, standing ready by the computers, clever fingers just waiting to implement his commands. 

"Display all the data streams you can for me, I need to see anything at all that's digitized, I need to see whether the lights are on or off and how many bars they've all got on their cell phones. There's something off in there, maybe something I can work with." 

Skye nodded, and several windows popped up. "This is actively interacting with their systems, though, and they're going to notice the processing lag soon, so we haven't got long before they get suspicious." 

"Right. Right, okay. There's a lot of power fluctuations in the base grid, what on Earth are they using as a power source? The jumps are too fast and sudden for it to be a problem with the governor spring on the petrol-burning generators. The specs for the base have those, but a lot of information like that seems to have been made up by Hydra to cover their tracks." 

"Yeah, yeah," said Skye. "There's a whole second level of deep encryption here, I'm working on it, looks like it might be running equipment, hardware drivers or something. Something a lot more complicated than gas generators." She peered at the power spikes. "Man, they must have some heavy-duty surge protectors down there, how are these systems even still running?" 

"Little nudge and they wouldn't be," Fitz said in an aside as he studied the newly-opened window, the specs on some kind of circular construction, maybe four or five feet across and a foot deep, that looked suspiciously like a first-generation miniaturized arc reactor. 

"That," Fitz said with widening eyes. "What that looks like is one of Hydra's large-scale Tesseract energy storage units. Thought Cap had destroyed 'em all in the war. But any he didn't would've gone to the SSR... and right back to HYDRA." 

"And they had access to the Tesseract, too. There could be hundreds of those things, lying around under supposedly SHIELD-built bases." 

"But without the cube to recharge 'em every now and again, it's struggling to keep the current even with the dwindling energy in some of the cells..." Fitz turned to Skye with new intention. "Can you introduce data into their system?" 

"This is actually just a monitoring program, not a driver, I can't change the settings on the device," she said. 

"No, I know, but can you patch me into their comms?" 

"Yeah, but I don't see what good that's gonna do, they'll definitely know we're in their systems then." 

"Not if I can do this right," he said with determination, and he directed one of his hoverbots to hold position just in front of his chest and direct a mic at his mouth. He looked to Coulson for approval. 

"We have to try something now," the director said. "Let's see what you've got up your sleeves." 

"You're sure about this?" Skye asked, hand hesitating over the button. 

"Yes," said Fitz. 

"All right, go," she said, and pressed the button. 

"Hello," he said into the mic. "Is this Prudhoe Base? My name is Agent Leo Fitz." 

Skye had dropped to passive mode again, monitoring and decrypting the signals coming out of the base, but they could still see through the security monitors when the Hydra agent in command turned to stare at the communications panel. 

"We have your team," the man said. "Breaking into our systems won't get them out alive." 

"Fine by me," Fitz answered almost breezily. "But I didn't break in. John Garrett gave me the passcode, said you might be needing some help with those old generators, now that the last charge from the Tesseract is wearing down. Wouldn't want those two to escape, believe me, they're dangerous. Stayed sleeper to keep an eye on 'em, but once they're out of the way and the rest of this team is dealt with, I'll be free to join you. Hail Hydra." 

"Hail Hydra," the man answered, and smiled. "The old tech's barely hanging on, you're right about that. You think you can help get the levels steady again?" 

"Should be able to, if you've got someone who can do the wiring. I can't get away quite yet. But be careful, all right? Even with one of those babies running on minimal power, it's still got a lot of destructive capability. Don't want to have it deal a blow to the wrong side, now, do we?" 

"I hear you," the man said. "Name's Kristoff, by the way. I haven't had a lot of experience with the old tech, but if you talk me through it, I should be able to handle it." He routed audio to a headset and settled it over his head before hopping down through a trapdoor. "Now what are we doing here?" 

"We'll have to be sure about the levels, but as long as they're below threshold, you should be able to safely wire the nodules in sequence, rather than in parallel. That should effectively cancel any variance you're getting from the unevenness of their power levels when the generator cycles." 

"In sequence? You sure about that?" Kristoff's voice was dubious. 

"Well, like I said, it's risky," Fitz answered. "We'll have to make absolutely certain that the energy level of each nodule has fallen below the threshold level, which is ten percent of maximum capacity. But yes. In that case, wiring in sequence is probably the way to go, if you want to be sure of steady power." 

"Nodules are reading at between one and three percent," Kristoff told him. 

"No idea it was so bad," said Fitz sympathetically. "Well, you'll want to get started then. This could take a while. Got your insulating gloves ready?" 

"On and set," Kristoff replied. "What's my first move?" 

"Well, to keep the power as steady as possible, you'll probably want to wire the nodule with the most remaining power into the one with the least, to start with. So find that connection, and be sure to switch the safety _before_ removing it from the nodule output slot. Don't let it touch any other part of the machine, this is delicate work." 

There were a few clicks, and a low hissing noise, and then Kristoff said, "All right. Nodule disconnected." 

"Good. Now you'll want to find the input on the emptiest nodule, and disconnect the same way. Keep it out of contact with the rest of the machine, even when its safety is on. And then plug the first cable into the second nodule's input. It might spark a little, that's perfectly normal. That's why you've got the gloves." 

"Right, makes sense. All right, connecting them no-" 

There was a very loud crackle, and then a _FWOOM._

The feeds all went dark. 

The others in the command center sort of stared at him silently for a moment. 

"That was supposed to happen," he told them. "I estimated the threshold for catastrophic failure was actually around point-two-percent capacity, not that wiring the nodules in sequence would do anything of value. I figured anything over ten percent, the explosion would have too great a risk of injuring Trip, May and the other prisoners, so that's the number I gave 'em. They should find it pretty easy to escape right about now." He smiled, a tiny, pleased and proud expression. 

"Fitz, that was absolutely brilliant," Simmons said, and swooped in to kiss him on the cheek. 

"You're kinda scary, did you know that, Fitz?" Skye told him with slightly widened eyes. "No idea you could lie like that. I was scared for a minute there, until I remembered you totally wouldn't have done that with all of us in the room if you really were Hydra. Plus, you know, the whole not-giving-in-until-Ward-dropped-you-in-the-ocean thing. You've got bigger balls than me, man." 

"Thanks, Skye," he told her. "That actually means a lot." 

"Let's go, Skye," said Coulson. "We can at least give them some cover once they manage to get outside." 

Skye grinned, and followed him down the spiral stairs. 

Fitz sighed, and he prodded the enlarged flight interface on his tablet with a clumsy finger until the little 'bot flew back into its box, and he settled in to wait for the others to return. 

"They're going to be fine," Jemma told him, ruffling his hair. "Thanks to you. They'll come back safe, you'll see." 

He was tired. "Wheel me out to the overlook, would you, so I can see them when they do?" he asked. 

"Of course," she said, so understanding and so warm, and she wheeled him out of the glassed-in area and over to the stairs. 

They watched as May came in first, face grim but giving the two at the top of the stairs a little nod before heading in to the modular areas of the plane, where the medical module was still their infirmary. Trip came next, helping one of the rescued SHIELD agents up the ramp; she'd tripped and sprained her ankle in the chaos and darkness following the explosion. Then the other two agents came up, followed by Skye and Coulson, and Fitz heaved a huge sigh of relief, knowing everyone was back safe. 

Triplett made sure everyone was okay, settled their guests into the infirmary area, and then the team had a quick, informal debrief in the lounge before May went to the cockpit to prep for takeoff. Once they were in the air people began going off to do other things - Coulson down to interview the other agents, Skye back into the command center to sort through the data they'd collected from the base and listen to music (she always said that room had the best speakers) - and Simmons bustled into the kitchenette to make tea, because right now she badly needed a cup of tea, and because she didn't want to go far but she could see in Trip's eyes that he needed to talk to Fitz. 

Antoine settled in across from Fitz, taking the other man's hand in his and saying, "Hey, I want to thank you for saving my life back there. You're a real hero, you know that? And the team needs you." 

"That's generous of you, but it wasn't just me, it was all of us working together. Skye did a lot of it." Fitz shook his head, eyes lingering on the way his weak, clumsy hand was cradled in Trip's strong, sure one. "I'm not a hero, not like you." 

"No." Trip fixed him with an earnest, intense look, and squeezed his hand tighter. "You can't tell me that, Leo. That is not all right. You can't tell me I can't pick you as my hero. Okay? I look up to you like my grampa looked up to Cap. Cap wasn't a hero because of his muscles or his shield. Cap was a hero before all that. Cap was a hero because he wanted to go out and protect people even though he _wasn't_ at the pinnacle of health. Because he had the guts to say what had to be said to get the job done. Because he let himself rely on his team to do the things they were better at. And because he was prepared to die at the bottom of the ocean to save the people he cared about. All right? So you're no less a hero than he was. You're my Cap. You're my hero." 

"Huh," Fitz replied, and he smiled uncertainly, tears starting in his eyes at the sheer earnestness of what he was hearing. "Never really thought about it that way." 

"Well, you should," Trip said, and his exasperation with the whole damn issue was starting to show. "And you should damn well be proud. I've worked too hard to learn to help people for someone to save my life and then think it's nothing." He raised his eyebrows at Fitz. "And I know you think Jemma's worth the world. So don't just dismiss you laying down your world for her. She deserves more than that. Especially after she picked it up and helped you dust it off." 

Fitz closed his eyes as those words impacted him. "I thought I was gonna die," he said. "I really did. Couldn't have done anything else, though. She's always been the brave one. I'm always the one tryin' to live up to her example. Give back. I dunno how to change that in my head. It's just sorta the way things are. The way they were." 

"She's steady," Trip agreed. "But I don't think you see _yourself_ very well. Because when you do spark up bright, it's a hell of a sight, leaves the rest of us gaping. There's no keepin' up with you, Leo. Not when you're on fire like that." 

Trip's eyes were burning with whatever it was he saw in Fitz, and when Fitz finally opened his eyes and saw that, it took his breath away. 

"Okay," he said, and he reached out for Trip, and Trip pressed into his space and kissed him hard. 

"Can we get some 'thank God we're all still alive' sex going on right now, or are you still hiding from me?" he asked Fitz, hovering an inch away from a second kiss. 

"Yes, please, we can do that," Fitz answered. "We can definitely do that." 

So Trip kissed him again, longer this time, hands slotting around the slim form in the wheelchair, and Fitz reciprocated wholeheartedly. 

Simmons looked up from her tea preparations to see them entangled, and also Skye gaping at them through the glass of the command center. Jemma grinned and winked at the younger woman, put her tea under a cosy for the moment, and went to join them, pulling Trip up for a kiss over Fitz's head before moving them in the direction of her bunk by the simple expedient of releasing the brakes on Fitz's chair and pulling it backwards. 

Skye grinned, shook her head, and gave them all a thumbs-up before they disappeared behind the sliding door of her little den, engaging the full opacity setting on the dark glass and leaving the rest of the world behind. 

Tonight was about Fitz, because they'd both missed him, his spirit and his enthusiasm about his work and his contentment in a job well done. Trip helped him out of his chair and onto Jem's bed, and Jemma curled up in the chair, happy to watch. 

Trip's mouth teased across Fitz's skin, and he stripped the smaller man of his clothes, somewhere between expedient and frenzied, leaving him only in boxers, and the cast on his arm. Fitz helped as best he could, but mostly he watched, watched how Antoine wanted him, how his eyes glowed like coals in the dark, and felt how those dark hands and quick mouth darted and pressed and nipped as if they wanted to consume him but didn't know where they wanted to begin. 

"Mmm," Trip said emphatically. "I've been waiting for this." He kissed Fitz's mouth one more time, then propped himself up enough to look over Fitz's face. "What are you up for right now?" 

"Pretty much anything," Fitz answered, a vaguely pleased expression on his face. "You just go right on enjoyin' me as much as you are right now, because it's the most incredible thing I've ever seen." 

Trip beamed at him, bright eyes compressing to happy slits. "Hmm," he said. "So if I wanted to fuck you?" 

Fitz couldn't find words for a moment, couldn't even find breath, but not in a bad way. "Never done it before, but I'd like to try," he said. He'd thought about it a lot, how strong Trip was, how he wanted to feel that force all through him. 

Trip spent a minute kissing Fitz's neck while he decided on his answer. "Another day, definitely," he said. "But for a first time? I'd want to do that right, and I just don't think I have the patience for that right now." He grinned down at Fitz as he pressed their erections together through their clothes. "But I promise I'm gonna enjoy tonight a whole lot." 

Fitz gasped and groaned quietly, mindful of all the other people they were sharing the vehicle with tonight, but he couldn't keep completely quiet, with how good that felt and how long he'd wanted it. His good arm fumbled across Trip's face and neck, then down along his side, not quite coordinated enough to ruck up Trip's shirt, but enough to communicate the idea. 

"Yeah," Trip agreed. He sat up enough to take off his shirt, then rocked back down onto Fitz, breathing along with the sensations of the other man's skin under his, the life and excitement present in the rising and falling of his chest. He buried his face in Fitz's neck and just breathed in deep, the scents of soap and skin and the tang of sweat, of the excitement of today's adventure. 

Fitz made a sound embarrassingly like a whimper at the way that made him feel so utterly consumed. His good arm wrapped around Trip's back, he just hung on as best he could and lost himself in it all. 

Antoine hummed deep in his chest and ground his hips against Fitz's again, making sure to express his appreciation for all of this, for Fitz, for all the different flavors of life that ran through all three of them. Unwilling to hold back anymore, he undid his own fly and freed himself, and, with another long, deep hum, pushed Fitz's boxers aside to slot them together. 

They both shivered, and Fitz grabbed at Trip's back, and Trip kissed and nuzzled at Fitz's neck and jaw as though it was his mission. 

Breath was coming quicker and less even, and Trip leaned on his elbow on the side of Fitz's cast so that he could take his other hand and find Leo's good hand and bring them both between their bodies, wrapping around their cocks, and his hips shuddered into motion as well, so that there were suddenly many planes of skin in play, moving against each other, sparking amazing reactions. 

There was an aborted whine from beside the bed, as Jemma, watching them, had begun to touch herself. Both the men on the bed reacted with the quirked corners of smiles, but only Antoine was spurred on to faster motion and harder breathing by the thought of what she was doing. 

"Leo, you are the hottest thing," Antoine half-whispered. "You understand that? You being your genius self gets me going so fast. Wanted you all day. Wanted this, mmm, yeah, God, wanted exactly this. So. Bad." He nuzzled the skin of Fitz's cheek, kissed messily, nipped just a little. His breathing got louder, and his hips snapped more sharply, stuttering, and he moaned low and hoarse as he came. 

Fitz just watched him in awe, watched the unbelievable passion the man had, watched how he came undone, and it was all so much, too much as he felt Trip's hand tighten around his, felt the slide of cum in their grips. Fitz's own pleasure came up sudden, surprising him into a yell, a bit of one, which mellowed into a moan as the pressure and friction continued, perfectly, quietly, until they were both empty. And then Trip put his head down on Fitz's chest, breathing hard, and Fitz let out a little disbelieving breathless laugh, and Trip let his head roll to the side so he could grin in return. 

"You're my hero," he said softly. 

Right now, Fitz really couldn't argue. 

Jem made another soft noise, and her breathing went harsh enough to be audible. Trip reached over to catch her free hand in his, squeezing it tight, and she squeezed back, letting out a long, low whine. A few moments later, her hand, and the rest of her, went lax. She and Trip smiled hazily at each other. 

This was them. This was good. All of it. 

After a few minutes Trip roused himself and fished in his pocket for a sealed sterile moist wipe that he'd taken from the first aid supply earlier, and he cleaned them both neatly and efficiently. Then he kissed Leo deeply on the mouth, tasting the new calm, settled laziness of his energy and smiling. He kissed him on the cheek, too, before standing and saying, "I'd stay, but there's really not room for two extra people on Jem's bed." 

Fitz made a sad noise as he realized how true that was, and then he watched as Trip kissed Simmons good night, deep and passionate as Trip was about everything, and slipped out the door. 

She hesitated as she turned back to look at him, mostly naked on her bed, although Trip had made sure to tuck him back into his boxers. 

"Jem," he said, rolling his eyes a bit. "Get in here, it's your bed." 

"Yes, all right," she said, crawling in beside him, still mostly dressed herself. "You'll tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable, won't you? I don't want to jostle your arm or... do anything you're not okay with." 

"I'd tell you," Fitz insisted. "Promise." 

So she curled tight around him, leaned her head on his shoulder, and asked, "Is this all right?" 

"Absolutely," he answered. He did his best to wrap his good arm comfortingly around her shoulders, and he didn't think he did too awfully at it. "I love you," he told her. "Want to keep you right beside me as long as I can." 

She sighed happily. "I love you too," she told him. But then she turned her face to look at him, with that kind of expression he could feel without looking at it, the kind that meant she had something she wasn't quite sure how to say. 

"What?" he asked her, unworried. 

Her eyebrows crinkled just slightly as she prepared to speak. "I've kind of possibly... fallen in love with Trip," she said. 

Fitz didn't show that he'd heard at all for a moment, still petting her hair and holding her close as well as he could manage. And then he spoke, calm and quiet. 

"I knew you would. I can see how great he is. For a long time, it worried me. But that's because... somehow what I didn't see coming was me falling for him too." 

She considered that, then set her face seriously to look at him. "And it doesn't change anything?" 

"Not if you don't want it to," he answered with an uncertain quirk of a smile. 

"No, Fitz, I don't want anything more to change," she said, expression softening, and kissed him on the cheek. 

He beamed. "Yeah," he said. "I think we've had quite enough new and exciting things in our lives for the moment." 

"If I have anything to say about it, the three of us," she said emphatically, "are sticking together. No matter what." 

"Yep," he said. "We all save each other. I get that now. And I get the feeling that Trip's not going anywhere anytime soon." He sighed, small and happy. "I can live with this." 

And that was good enough for Jemma. 

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this story is vaguely attempting to tie my headcanons into the material from each new episode. I know where it's going, but canon will help me decide how I get there, whether it's compatible or not. (Turns out it isn't quite.) 
> 
> I'm planning on dovetailing this series into the Hear Me series and continuing from there - not sure how much shippy stuff there'll be, it's a big ensemble mess right now with all the Avengers as well as the Bus crew, but if you want to know what the characters do next, that's where they'll be hanging.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Synthesis of Agent Antoine Triplett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616405) by [qwanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer)




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